A Haunting Change of Persepctive
by Kadge Rose-Feather
Summary: Mustang has awful nightmares about the Ishvalan war of extermination often, but this time it's different.


**A Haunting Change of Perspective**

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_A Roy Mustang One-Shot_

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"Roy, _Roy_, get up!" Comes a desperate whisper from a voice so reminiscent of my mothers, forcing me to open my tired eyes.

I look up at the forced smile on the face of a woman who... Looks oddly familiar, in a way that I just can't seem to put my finger on.

She is Ishvalan.

She's also shaking as she pulls me up, nails digging into the soft flesh of my arm. She clutches me tight against her quaking body, which seems to bring her some minimal comfort. I can't bring myself to pull away despite myself.

It's strange; I am very small in comparison to her.

As I look down at my hands I see digits and flesh so unfamiliar to me. The skin pigmentation is much darker than usual, _almost as if I were..._

Tears are streaming from the woman's eyes as she rights herself, wrapping my little hand firmly within her own.

There is a massive massed crowd of Ishvalans outside, and I wince as she pulls us in with them.

I can hear gunshots and screaming as they pierce the frantic air, which doesn't help to calm down the woman who is holding me any.

I try to jerk away, muttering incoherently about the fact that I don't belong here in a language that I don't recognise. But the woman only clings to my hand tighter, stroking my head as she tries to muffle her hopeless cries.

Finally, with the help of the bustling crowd's momentum, I manage to pull myself free.

As I cut my way through the crowd, I hear her high-pitched wails of 'child' and 'son' above the murmurs of the crowd, which unfortunately, attract some unwanted attention.

A man appears on the roof of the building that the woman and I just left. He raises two hands, that almost seem larger than life, laughing manically.

_Zolf Kimblee..._

I'm barely five metres away by the time he's blown the crowd up. I stumble and fall on the deformed ground, Kimblee's sadistic laughing filling the air, echoing off of broken walls.

The screams of the people are so _loud_. They hurt my ears and make me sick, abhorrent to me on the worst level possible and harmful to my _soul._

(_Wait, what? What am I talking about-_)

This is all wrong. I'm here, but not how I'm supposed to be.

I clumsily pull myself up, barely noticing that one of my legs are dripping blood. Not looking back, I rush forwards, tears and snot mingling on my chin as I wail helplessly.

Despite my blurry vision, I run as fast as I can through the streets filled with rubble and death. The awful acrid smells burn my nose. I right myself every time I trip, forcing my eyes not to look at the obstacle that faltered me, _as they may not be simply objects._

Finally, when my feet can't carry me any further, I fall to my knees crying- _scraping them on broken glass in the process_ - squeezing my stinging eyes closed, I try my best to ignore the dead Ishvalans around me.

Even though I'm aware of how ridiculous it is, the piles of dead, dark-skinned people around me feel more like family and friends that I'm losing with every passing minute.

Once again, I find myself staring at my unfamiliar hands. _These _hands have no blood on them, they are the pure and innocent hands of an Ishvalan child. But they aren't _my_ hands.

"Pray to your god, child." I hear; the impassive, low voice of Roy Mustang, coming from another's lips.

I look up at the blue-clad figure standing not far away, and surely enough it is _me_, hand poised and ready to snap.

My eyes open wide, I grow silent.

"N-no, sir, you can't! Please don't," I pause momentarily, choking on my own bile. "I'm t-too young... I don't want... I don't want to die in your flames!" I scream, pleading, sobbing again. But, of course, it is all incomprehensible to the state alchemist.

(_I... I remember this. I thought he was... Praying..._)

I find that I can't speak English. Even though my brain knows the language like the back of my blood-stained hands, this tongue does not.

I can only speak in the ancient tongue of the elders, which the Mustang in front of me does not know. _Neither do I, and yet..._

"Please! _Please!_ Don't kill me! I don't want to die! Ishvala isn't ready for me yet!" I scream, rocking back and forth on my knees and wailing openly.

The human weapon before me looks away for a moment, such deep melancholic pain etched on his face, dwelling in his despondent eyes. _But that doesn't make up for anything!_

In trying to stand, I become aware of all the glass embedded deep in my knees, slicing my muscles and grating against my young bones. I drop back to the cement painfully, dirt and dust billowing up.

The other-me closes his eyes for a brief moment, muttering a forlorn apology before his head snaps back to me, his face completely blank once again.

Then he snaps his immaculately clean, white-gloved fingers, and I go up in flames.

_And it is so painful._

I am burning and choking and screaming and dying... And _dying._

...And then I wake up: screaming, sobbing loudly, covered in sweat, cursing the monster that I am, so grateful that there is no one here to see me in such a pitiful state.

And I hear Ed's gruff voice, resonating in my head.

_'Fucking Colonel bastard, you evil, heartless monster.'_

And I cry harder.

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_**~Ishvala is the Ishvalan's god, if anyone has forgotten or doesn't know. So it's practically "God isn't ready for me yet!"**_

**So... Sh*t yeah, that was probably a bit depressing? I am sorry.**

**I don't know why I really wanted to write this, but I thought it would be interesting, I guess? I felt compelled too. I just love Mustang's character so much, and wanted to see what I could do to make him break down.**

**_*Yes, I'm going to try and catch you out on this again*_****  
****EQUIVALENT EXCHANGE!**** I write the one-shot, you write a review! ^.^(Please, though. It would really make my day...)**


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